Timepiece Infatuation
by Lira is a Girl's Name
Summary: First kisses aren't supposed to happen in bars, or because he's probably half-drunk, or because you think you have a secret weapon. And certainly don't tell him he can forget it in the morning. Sequel/Prequel to For Yet Another Time. Veser/Ples.


AN: This one is the last piece of my little Veser-and-Ples trilogy. Technically this is the beginning, or the events written about for the story are chronologically before the other two pieces. It's not quite a prequel because it really should be read last; things are written about candidly in this one that were obfuscated in For Yet Another Time until the end. So uh, please read that first if you're gonna read it, but otherwise this could stand by itself. Hanna is Not a Boy's Name belongs to Tessa Stone and I am only borrowing; no money is being made and no offense is intended.

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TIMEPIECE INFATUATION

-by: Lira-

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Veser was usually a very straightforward person. He was blunt, he was in your face, and if he wanted something he would just take it. This philosophy did not seem to extend to someones, however, and the fact was socking Veser in the gut. It wasn't like elementary school, when Veser didn't see the problem with just going up to a girl and telling her he liked her. Back then he followed up his declaration by pushing the girl down so she skinned her knee on the blacktop, but it was the thought that mattered. Now Veser couldn't even shove the object of his affections to the ground.

Hanna had introduced Veser to Ples. It had been a total accident. Veser was still spending lots of time at Conrad's apartment, and Hanna had come around with the older gentleman. Veser's first response was to get in Ples' face criticizing him about his funny clothes and how the white in his hair made him look like a geezer and how old was he already? Somehow Ples had become Veser's keeper instead of Conrad, and Veser had gotten attached.

It was maybe like Lee all over again.

Veser didn't even notice it happening. He didn't think it weird that he continued to drop in on Ples after the case was through and he was free of watchers, and he didn't think it weird that maybe he let his guard down a little with Ples. Veser made a point of always asking Ples to buy him beer, perhaps out of a desire to join in on something with the older gentleman. Ples did drink an awful lot, and somewhere in the back of Veser's head that fact made him uncomfortable. He compensated for it by calling Ples a lush and criticizing his choices in brands of alcohol.

It was when Veser was at Hanna's and his fingers moved faster than his thoughts that he realized something had happened.

Veser had heard the ticking sound emerging from under a pile of Hanna's crap. Hanna had left him alone for a minute so Veser dug right through Hanna's shit in search of the ticking. Pulling out the brass pocket watch, Veser's shoulders relaxed slightly, and his thumb smoothed over the embossed symbol on the front of it. He then slid the watch into his pocket and moved away from the box it had been stuffed in. Later he knew that he'd taken it because its ticking had sounded almost exactly like Ples when he was just approaching buzzed.

Veser had to admit then that his liking of Ples was of the variety where he would appreciate humping Ples shoved up against a wall. Caution was not a familiar pathway for Veser, but he just shut down when he was in the same room as the man. Veser could insult Ples' hair, try to steal his glass of rum, and ask Ples if he thought his house would fall over that night or the one after. Leaning over and kissing Ples, however, just didn't seem to happen.

Then Veser learned how to use the watch. The inscription inside was hard to read but the idea seemed simple, and he experimented with a few minutes at a time. He quickly decided that he'd gotten the hang of it, decided that he really just needed to find Ples. It couldn't be sexual harassment if Ples didn't remember it later to accuse him. And if Veser fucked something up, he could just try again the next night.

Ples was right at the bar, glasses lined up in the usual formation. Veser slid onto the barstool next to him, reached for the one glass with drink still in it, and was met with a look of faintly amused disbelief.

"You gonna buy me a beer now?" Veser asked, by way of greeting.

"I have lost count of how many times I have told you this," Ples said, without sounding especially upset. "But you are underage. I am simply not going to purchase alcohol for you."

"You could do something else for me," Veser said, edging closer to Ples.

This earned a cool stare, as if Ples thought he knew what Veser was going to ask. Veser didn't like that much, and he could almost feel the wound pocket watch ticking in his pocket, like confidence seeping into his ears to combat the debilitation of Ples' ticking, and he knew what to do about that. He moved forward, sliding one hand inside Ples' collar and to the back of the man's neck, holding him in place as Veser pressed his mouth to Ples' own.

Veser wasn't really expecting Ples to kiss him back. He was expecting the man to pull away awkwardly, and so he was a bit more forceful even than his usual. Teeth were not minded, and Veser thrust his tongue into Ples mouth in a claiming gesture. To his surprise, Veser could feel Ples' mouth softening, could feel Ples' tongue edging against his own in a languid manner, could feel their mouths molding together in a fashion that was surprisingly easy. The reciprocation was almost enough to startle Veser into stopping – almost, but not quite. After a few seconds, he only redoubled his efforts.

Then, after Veser had convinced himself that they'd passed the point of rejection, Ples jerked his head away entirely. Veser was so surprised he almost tried to bite Ples' tongue off. He blinked quickly, trying to figure out what happened, navigating his gaze back to Ples' face in case the answer was there. Ples was sitting with a stunned-looking expression, the first two fingers of one hand pressed against his lips. He was clearly thinking about something, something distressing and which Veser didn't want to guess at.

"Come on, what was that?" Veser protested loudly, blustering past any awkwardness he might have felt. "'Cause if you're gonna say I'm not a good enough kisser for you, I want another shot to prove I am."

The little wrinkles in Ples' forehead only deepened at that.

"I'm sorry," Ples said slowly, sounding as if he was still thinking. Sounding as if he was having an entirely separate conversation inside his head. "What was that?"

"It was a kiss," Veser alleged bluntly. "Don't tell me you've drank enough already that you couldn't even tell that."

"Oh no." Ples said, sounding surprised. "I was attempting to clarify why you were kissing me."

"Because I wanted to," Veser said, no hesitation.

"Ah, well, in that case," Ples said, as if completely unable to believe it. "Veser, do you really think it is appropriate to be... To be kissing me, and I mean myself personally, in a bar like this?"

"Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke," Veser said. "No one in the bar is gonna be hurt by a little macking."

Ples' eyes slid closed for a few long moments, the one indication that he was becoming distressed by the conversation.

"Veser, I am old enough to be your father," Ples pointed out, tone distanced and clinical. "It is not appropriate for a man of my age to be doing anything with you. In fact, at this point even our friendship is suspect. I have been very irresponsible."

Veser's heart stuttered in response, his mind instantly quashing the thought that of course Ples would leave him. That was what always happened. The rest of him chugged ahead, pushing his hand. "Yeah but if you're saying you're irresponsible and shit, that means you were thinking something without me even doing anything. So what were you thinking about me?"

It came out halfway between a tease and a taunt, with Veser refusing to back down.

"Nothing, Veser," Ples said, obviously attempting to maintain the clinical-sounding voice. "Some things are not meant to be stated aloud."

Veser really didn't know what that was supposed to mean, so he placed one hand on Ples' knee and leaned in once again. "Just pretend it's not real or something," he pressed. "Pretend tomorrow nothing happened; I don't care. But I'm making something happen now."

Ples had been trying to edge out from underneath Veser's hand, impeded by the fact that he could only move so far while remaining on his stool. Veser's response was to move higher, thumb sliding along the inside of Ples' thigh as it approached the older man's groin. He kissed Ples once, quick, open-mouthed, not lingering long enough for Ples to deny him. Ples wouldn't want to make a scene in the bar, which meant Veser had a lot of rope with which to hang them before Ples felt the need to go that route to end things.

"We're in a bar," Veser said, mouth near Ples' ear in a mockery of discretion. He paused to bite down on the soft skin there, because he'd always wanted to literally sink his teeth into Ples, and had never had opportunity before then. "By now they expect a little drunken stupidity. Everyone will just pretend it was another night at the bar. You can pretend it's another night at the bar."

Veser didn't quite know how to coax and he didn't know how to be subtle, so he just tilted his hand and slid it against Ples' crotch. The gasp from the older man was audible, even in the din of the bar. Veser massaged quick and hard, unable to even try for finesse.

"C'mon," Veser pressed. "If you're thinking dirty things about me, I think I have a right to know."

Veser kept at it, the shape of Ples' dick in his pants novel to him, and therefore quite entertaining to knead with the palm of his hand. Wanting to do that exact thing for such a while made him impatient and aggressive, and the ticking coming from Ples was starting to jangle completely out of tune. It was the gauge that Veser half-consciously guided by, so certain that he'd know when to stop if it was too much, that it wouldn't matter even if he messed up.

"Tell me," Veser pressed. "Say it low if you gotta but you know you want to say it."

"I shouldn't," Ples murmured, voice low and almost broken.

Veser surprised himself; whatever he was saying, he didn't think Ples wanted to say anything. It actually sounded like Ples did – like Ples would.

Veser managed to slow down, if only from shock, turning the lapse into a deliberate pause to go for the zip of Ples' pants. Take as much as he could. It was his driving thought; if he wasn't sure how the fuck this was going to go down, he'd at least get some wank material first.

Ples stopped, one hand moving towards his crotch as if to pull Veser away, before aborting the motion. Somehow that action decided him, and Ples breathed out slowly in preparation to speak.

"Every time you ask me to buy you a drink," Ples said, the words coming out evenly save for some little defect, a slight falter that revealed the man's nerves. "It occurs to me that if you were even the slightest bit drunk, I might have the opportunity to touch you."

Veser had his hand inside Ples' pants, moving as much as the cramped space would allow, and had to remind himself to keep stroking even as Ples spoke in his hypnotic murmur.

"I think about how young you are," Ples admitted. There was a long pause, either from nerves on Ples' part or plain old over-stimulation. "I know it makes me very uncomfortable, and I am trying to convey this to you. But it also makes you very tempting. Your energy, it is-"

Ples quickly bit his lip, then went on. "Arousing. I do not expect... I do not count myself as a very eligible bachelor, if you can understand. It is like a factor that instantly rules out compatibility, the age difference. I would not want to impose."

Despite Ples' nervous phrasing, his sentences still held his usual cadence, and listening to him made Veser just want to fucking hump Ples' leg and be done with it. He was hard and he wanted it and Ples was basically telling him that things were reciprocated and yet Veser was not jumping his bones. The words that held him enthralled that they might be true also held him back from doing anything more.

"I am not going to forget about the age, Veser," Ples said. "I imagine it would always bother me. It is bothering me right now, even with you doing that. I really don't... Would you rather I just talk logistics? I like having your hand around me. I imagine you have an idea about that by now. The kissing, too."

"Like you said," Ples continued, cadence still unbelievably even. "Tomorrow I will need to pretend as if this never even occurred. I do hope-"

And then Ples' voice hitched up, and Veser's hand had been working persistently the entire time with him not realizing at all that Ples was getting close. A moment more, and Veser could feel Ples coming over his fingers, his dick still trapped inside his pants.

"-that you will forgive me," Ples finished in one slow outward breath.

Veser just stared at Ples. He felt as if he'd been played. He thought he was getting what he wanted, being able to kiss Ples – and in a public place at that – and being able to grab his dick like it was something intimate. He'd thought Ples was spilling his guts and saying all sorts of nice things about Veser, but it wasn't worth anything.

It was even worse because Veser knew what he had been prepared to do for Ples, what he would have had to do for better or worse because he'd already sent time in motion when he wound the clock outside the bar. Veser was going to take away Ples memories so Ples wouldn't have to remember, but some twisted subconscious part of him had wanted good memories to take away. He wanted that knowledge without having to act on it. Now Ples was saying that he would want these memories erased, despite enjoying everything.

Veser took his hand back while wiping it off on Ples, the motion completely passive-aggressive. He needed something cutting to say, needed to lash out because he still didn't want to punch Ples in the face or anything.

"You're still an old geezer," he tried, aiming for flippant. "I should've known you were just gonna pop up some Alzheimers and blank on everything. Next time blank on my age and buy me a beer."

Veser looked away from Ples to the bar clock, needing to get the fuck out of there before he revised his decision and aimed a punch for Ples' nose. He was already imagining how Ples' glasses might break, and he wasn't really liking it because the glasses had sort of become part of the attraction. The clock read five until midnight, giving Veser a small window of time either way.

"I'm out," he said, pushing off from his stool and stalking away through the patrons. He made sure not to look back, because just that one time, he kind of wanted to.


End file.
